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CDFUUGHT DEPOSIT. 



PERFUME AND 
POISON 

BY 

VENNETTE HERRON 




BOSTON: RICHARD G. BADGER 

TORONTO: THE COPP CLARK CO.. LIMITED 



Copyright, 1917, by Richard G. Badger 



All Rights Reserved ^ Jb 






MADE IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



0Cr27/9l7 



©CU47(;T93 

1^0 I . 



To 

A. L. J. 

For whom these songs were written. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Pan Pipes 9 

The Choice 15 

Songs of the South 

Song to an Exile from the South 25 

When the Heart Calls 29 

The Shuttle 30 

Give Me Your Heart 34 

To Chico 36 

The Song the Vampire's Mistress Sings. ... 38 

About Love 

To the New Moon 47 

The Things You Laugh at 48 

Aftermath 49 

If a Woman Spoke the Truth 50 

Poems of Pain 

Why? 55 

Pain 56 

Lament 58 

A Soliloquy by the Moon 60 

Send Me a Song 62 

Rebellion 63 

5 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Pity the Impotent 65 

The Quest 67 



PERFUME AND POISON 



Pan Pipes 



PAN PIPES 

All the world once was glad — 
Laughing light — loving mad — 
With echoings from Pan's flute. 
But alas — dreary change! 
All the world's weary — strange — 
For now pipes of Pan are mute. 

There's an isle far away, 

Where the fairies still play ; 

It's ruled by the great God Pan. 

It's a blossom-starred maze, 

Behind silvery haze, 

Safe hid from the eyes of man. 

Rose and amethyst, green, 
'Neath a fair, golden sheen. 
It floats o'er the ocean blue. 
All about, waves dash high; 
While above, sea gulls fly; 
Sometimes slant-sailed ships pass too. 

It's a most wondrous land. 

With a white-magic strand. 

Where grows a tall, wide-branched tree, 

Which once cradled an elf 

On its topmost green shelf, 

Soft rocked by salt winds from sea. 

9 



Perfume and Poison 



On a time, long ago, 

'Neath a half-moon's pale glow, 

A nymph loved great Pan, the God. 

In the passionate glade 

Of the tree's purple shade 

They lay where the fays had trod. 

And the elf was the child 
Of their rapture so wild — 
Of moonshine and laughter born, 
Where a fragrant breeze sighed 
And a white sea-bird cried — 
Its mate, on the wing, wind torn. 

T'was a mischievous sprite — 

A small imp of delight — 

Who lived in the treetop high. 

Swung and swayed on a limb, 

While the waves sang to him, 

He laughed, when the stars flashed by. 

Very quickly he grew, 

Fed on honey and dew; 

He culled all the sweets of flowers. 

Oft he raced o'er the land ; 

Sometimes rolled on the sand, 

Or frolicked and frisked for hours. 

Then he flew with the birds ; 
Also ran with the herds 
Of deer, through the forest deep; 
lO 



Pan Pipes 



And he tickled the toes 
Of his wee fairy foes, 
Whene're he found them asleep. 

With bright butterflies too 
The elf fluttered and flew; 
Of sport there was never lack. 
He perched high on a sail 
And there tweaked by the tail 
A comet, fire trailing back. 

Last he plucked the tree's fruit. 
While he list to the lute 
Of Pan, on the grass below. 
Then he glimpsed the mermaids 
In their deep sea-green shades 
Soft wavering to and fro. 

And he saw the nymphs dance 

And the small monkeys prance — 

Glad nature all harking the call 

Of the wild, lilting tune 

And the lullaby croon 

Of Pan-pipes, commanding all. 

Then 'neath moonlight's white gleam, 
With the fairies a-dream, 
The elf dropped down from the tree. 
Where great Pan stretched in sleep. 
The elf came, with a creep. 
And snatched the pipes, lying free. 
II 



Perfume and Poison 



Through the forest he ran 
With the reed pipes of Pan; 
They followed him, where he went — 
The brute beasts — the gay imps — 
Brilliant birds and bright nymphs — 
Until the white night was spent. 

Then the great God awoke 
And discovered the joke; 
But failed to consider it light. 
"What you've done is a sin. 
"Come you here — do not grin!" 
He cried. 'Til treat you aright. 

"For your crime," said the God, 
With a terrible nod, 
"You'll suffer a weary span. 
"You shall have a new birth, 
"And shall live upon Earth, 
"Locked in the heart of a man. 

"And wherever you go, 

"In the world to and fro, 

"The maids will dance, while you play 

"But you'll see all the while 

"Your own green, sun-kissed isle, 

"And feel the fly of salt spray. 

"In your house, dim and dark — 
"In the street — in the park — 
"You'll hear the white bird's wild call ; 
12 



Pan Pipes 



"And again on the land 
"You'll remember the strand, 
"Bright gold, where the waters fall. 

"Oh, the hum of the bees — 
"And the cocoanut trees — 
"These things you may not forget ; 
"While the red deer's swift dash 
"And the humming-bird's flash 
"Will torture you to regret. 

"Where the flying fish leap 

"And the coral snakes creep 

"And white sails flare 'gainst blue sky- 

"In Earth's cities, drab-grey, 

"Where dull day follows day, 

"They'll call to you by and by. 

"And you may not return, 
"Though you fever and burn, 
"Till you bring my pipes to me. 
"You will keep them, I know — 
"To the earth, you shall go, 
"And learn there to love your tree. 

"For 'tis all very well 
"To make music a spell 
"That'll draw all maids after you; 
"But 'tis better by far 
"To live under your star, 
"In Elfland, by ocean blue." 
13 



Perfume and Poison 



So the elf came to Earth 
And found little of worth ; 
Of the maids he has his fill ; 
But he longs for the breeze 
Of free, foam-tossed seas — 
And the pipes of Pan are still. 

l'envoie 

'Tis the soul of the elf 
That so troubles yourself 
Oh boy, in the guise of man. 
Would you refind your tree — 
Go to live there with me? 
Restore then, the pipes to Pan. 



U 



The Choice 



THE CHOICE 

Once upon a time, a maiden, stepping softly 
through the green shadows of a sun-dappled 
wood, came upon a youth, who lay idly by the side 
of a flowing stream. The maid had tawny hair 
and lips like a dangling cherry, ripe for the pluck- 
ing. The youth was straight and slender, with a 
mocking, down-drooped mouth and calm, grey eyes. 
Like any two forest creatures, they gazed at each 
other an instant, alert, but silent. Then the girl 
drew a strand of yellow hair veil-like about her face 
and smiled at him through the gold. He surveyed 
her with cool pleasure — as a man looks at a bird, 
or a flower. She took a step backward and half 
turned away her head — watching all the while out 
of the corners of her dusky eyes. He smiled in- 
dulgently; but made no move. She pouted a little 
and drew nearer. 

"Wouldn't you like to see my garden?" she 
queried, shy, but direct as a child. 

Then combining fear with coquetry, she ran a 
little way off among the trees, trailing laughter over 
her shoulder. He yawned, stretched, and rose 
leisurely. After all, she was what the morning had 
brought him. The maid tripped on, making a pretty 
feint of fleeing, and the youth followed ; but failed 
to give her the satisfaction of pursuing. 

Thus they came to a great gate, over-grown with 
crimson roses. The maid pushed the flower-latticed 
15 



Perfume and Poison 



doors ajar and held them so, for him to enter. Hot 
perfumes greeted them. The garden was vast, and 
a blaze of color — a riot of joy, with a filliping back- 
ground of fear. There were palms bedecked with 
orchids ; there were great moss-covered rocks ; ferns 
breast-high; coral, and passion-flower vines ; jasmine 
and magnolia trees. There were fields of scarlet 
poppies, out-stretched in abandon to the sun's ca- 
resses. There were springs and brooks, filled with 
flashing fish ; and deep, dark pools, where pink lotus 
grew. There were purple berries, dripping poison; 
and the gleam of flame-tinged eyes in blue-green 
depths, unexplored. There were, too, many weird, 
fantastic things, for which man has no name. 

Monkeys swung from branch to branch ; a 
panther lay basking upon a sun-warmed ledge; 
a flock of parrots flew shrieking over-head ; shin- 
ing serpents slipped through the grass; and a pea- 
cock strutted by the river's brink. Scents and bird- 
songs, the flutter of bright, butterfly wings, innumer- 
able twitterings and cooings, distant bowlings and 
roarings — all of these blended and fiHud the air with 
the mystery and the compelling lure of strange music. 
This was the far-away place — the unknown goal of 
all longing — the paradise garden, which is never 
found ; but the memory of which comes to hurt and 
haunt the hearts of men — recalled for a moment by 
a song, a picture, a poem — or a sudden glimpse of 
the sea. 

All day, the maid wooed the youth and kept him 
contented in her garden. She brought him warm, 
i6 



The Choice 



luscious fruits, tasting of sunshine — and held them 
for him to eat, while the golden juices trickled 
through her pink-tipped fingers — honey too, like 
liquid amber ; — and then she knelt by a crystal spring 
and made of her hand an alabaster goblet, with which 
to give him drink. She garlanded herself with blos- 
soms and danced for him; and then threw herself 
breast-down upon the flower-starred grass at his 
feet, to tell him tales. Lying thus, with her round 
chin cupped in her palms and her tiny, pink heels 
clapped together in the air, she was so much a part 
of the garden that the wind, which rippled the river 
reeds, seemed to ripple her too. 

Through the golden, glowing day, the youth ac- 
cepted her homage ; and when night fell, purple and 
languorous, and she caught at his ankles and drew 
him down to his knees and then into her arms — 
begging the while for love — he answered her plead- 
ing with gracious caresses. 

Still he would not long remain, and, try as she 
would, the maid could not hold him. One comfort 
he left, however. She might seek him, if she would, 
within the walls of his own estate-^for he too had 
a garden. 

The next day, therefore, the maid set out and, 
dancing elf-like along the path the youth had indi- 
cated, she came soon to a pair of high, handsome 
doors, wrought of silver, iron and bronze, and stand- 
ing between tall pillars of white marble. 

Peering through the intricate grilling, the maid 
could see rows of poplars and evergreens ; long, state- 
17 



Perfume and Poison 



ly terraces; white statues and clear, blue waters, 
where swans floated sedately. Everything was cool, 
calm and quiet — green, grey-blue and white. There 
was a breeze; but no wind. As far as the eye could 
reach, there were vistas of clipped hedges, marble 
pillars, and carefully cultivated trees. In the back- 
ground stood a Greek temple. A gardener, in a blue 
smock and with a pruning knife in his hand, was the 
only living thing, except the swans, in sight. 

The maid shivered slightly and turned away. But 
just then the youth appeared at the top of one of the 
tall, gate-way posts. He sat lightly and easily upon 
the polished, hard stone, like a finished, clean-chiseled 
statue, upon its pedestal. Plainly he was a part of 
his garden, as she was a part of her's. 

"What are you doing up there?" the maid called 
out to him. 

"I sit up here awhile each day, in order to look 
dov/n and laugh at the world. Would you like to 
come inside? The gardener will open the gates for 
you. 

The maid looked wistfully up at the youth, who 
smiled amusedly down at her. 

"No," she said at length. "Your garden is ugly 
and cold. There are no flowers — no color — no 
birds." 

That was indeed the way his abode looked to her ; 
but she hoped, nevertheless, that he would urge, and 
even compel her to go inside. What he did, was to 
remain upon his post and to reply courteously, but 
with indifference and with just a touch of benign su- 
i8 



The Choice 



periority, "As you like. Some day you will return 
to beg admission at my gate." 

Then the maid was angry and stamped her small, 
bare foot upon the ground. "Never!" she cried. 
"Never — never!" and she ran away, fluttering like 
a golden butterfly through the forest. 

Months passed and the maid was happy and 
danced and sang and loved in her garden — luring 
thither whomever she fancied out of the world — 
giving them mad, glorious, gorgeous happiness, and 
then drifting them, when she wearied, into drugged 
dreams and death. Only now and again, when 
she passed a night alone on her bed of crushed roses, 
the maid stretched out her arms in the hot stillness, 
under the white moonlight, and wept — remembering 
the youth, who had no need of her. 

The summer passed ; autumn came, and then 
winter, and one morning the youth, looking down 
from his pillar, beheld the maid, huddled and for- 
lorn, with her face pressed against his doors. 

"What is the trouble, little one?" he hailed her 
kindly, with still a half-formed smile at her evident 
wishfulness to enter. 

"Winter has come," answered the maid. "My 
flowers are dead." My rivers are frozen. My beasts 
are asleep in their caves. There is snow on my grass. 
I am alone and oh, so cold." 

"Well, what can I do for you, child? I am not a 
God, to bring back the summer." 

"No, but your garden looks so green and warm." 

"It looks exactly as it did, when you refused to 
19 



Perfume and Poison 



come into it. My garden does not change. Upon 
everything there is a price. The desolation of win- 
ter follows always the passionate, full-blown sum- 
mer. We knew that long ago — you and I — and we 
each made our choice. But now that you have come 
to me, I myself will give you one more chance. Come 
and dwell in my garden, if you will. It is green 
and cool and serene. You will never sufFer and you 
will find content — and, for a little while each day, 
you too may sit up high and look down and laugh 
at the world." 

"And the price?" breathed the maid. 

"A trifle — only that having once entered, you 
must remain." 

"Forever?" 

"Forever." 

The maid stared in through the grill and ponder- 
ed. It was very cold outside and his garden appear- 
ed warm and comfortable by comparison. But then 
a new thought came to her and she stepped back, so 
that she might better look up at the youth. 

"It is cold out here and dreary," she cried, "and 
it may be that I shall die — but for me, there is 
spring! For you, there is endless monotony. Would 
I sell the power to laugh for love and joy, for the 
right to laugh at myself and the world? Would I 
sit forever by your clear blue river and watch the 
swans float by, when I know that sometime the 
roses and the poppies will bloom again, and I can 
dance in the sunshine and lie in the fragrance, be- 
neath the moon, and call men to be my lovers ? No 
20 



The Choice 



— a thousand times no! You are well content and 
very powerful up there on your post — but I shall 
go farther than you, for I have courage. I would 
rather die in the winter cold than never to live again 
where the serpent creeps, and the poison drips, but 
where all things are warm and beautiful. I will 
starve for months, if I may once more feast on honey 
and sun-kissed fruits. I will thirst forever, just 
to keep the dream of being drunk with golden wine. 
I will go back to my garden and sing to myself, lying 
alone in the snow, but knowing that summer will 
come again." 

"Brave, strange, foolish creature," said the youth, 
"tell me your name." 

"I am Poetry," answered the maid, "and you?" 
"I," responded the youth — from his great, high 
pillar, where he stood, laughing down at the world, 
"am called Philosophy." 



21 



SONGS OF THE SOUTH 



So Jig to an Exile from the South 



SONG TO AN EXILE FROM THE SOUTH 

I will dip my brush deep in the shadows, 
Through the mists of my dreams, to the true; 
And from colors in heart-pools reflected. 
Will I paint my three wishes for you. 

First, through verdure a low, winding tunnel. 

Hung with vines — there lies green 'neath my 
dream — 

Bound with moss, with bloom spangled and thorn- 
pierced — 

Hot and quivering, choked with earth-steam. 

Green marsh mazes, 'mid lilies and ferns mired, 
Faintly shimm'ring, untouched by sun's sheen, 
Where strange birds strut and stop, their beaks 

dipping 
Into fog-filled, filmed lakes — liquid green. 

Overhead palm leaves lace and o'erlap there. 
Where the breeze sultry rustles its sigh; 
Through the rifts in the tunnel's green roof torn 
Gleams the glow of this emerald sky. 

Scaly serpents through underbrush slipping; 
High above flocks of parroquets call; 
Poison drips; ripe fruit falls; and streams murmur; 
Stillness yet — silence, heavy o'er all. 

25 



Perfume and Poison 



And so green is the mist, green the air is; 
Green the bamboo and high, arching tree ; 
Green the shadows on black water swinging, 
Where the river runs swift to the sea. 

Green the parrot; and cold green the snake is — 
The striped lizzard, below the wet stone; 
E'en the stumps, rotten trunks, broken branches 
Green with orchids and creepers o'ergrown. 

Thus green is the trail. 

Next I'll paint with gold shining a ribbon; 
Stretched, as always, twixt blue and wood-green — 
Green of cocoanut palm at brink bending — 
Blue of ocean — the beach gold, between. 

Of glad, glistening sunlight a streamer. 
Caught and held to the earth by the day ; 
A pale band 'neath a tropic moon wan grown, 
When the ships rock at night in the bay. 

A fair, siren strip, luring, compelling; 
For love burning; cool shaded for play; 
A warm bed, softly saffron and yielding 
Where the tide's lapping lulls care away. 

Jewel-starred is the yellow, and fretted ; 

Tracked by gulls; sea-weed spread, with gold 

strings ; 
Crossed by starfish and shells; coral dotted; 
Flecked by flight of gold butterfly wings. 
26 



Song to an Exile from the South 



Tinged with gold are the tips of the palm trees; 
Gold are bills of bright birds — the curved floor; 
Also gold are the sun-dazzled ripples — 
All the glitter and glare of the shore. 

Oh, a flash and a laugh and caresses, 
On the strand, by the waves, breaking bold, 
And a sigh, where the glamour of moon-spray 
Veils an isle and a sail — these are gold. 

Thus gold is the sand. 

I will soak my brush last with the blue paint, 
With a hundred — a million — blue tints. 
Caught in memory's deepest recesses, 
Where the light of the blue ever glints. 

Lying there a broad reach of blue ocean. 
Silver-dimpled by laughs of the sun ; 
A white sail; a blue gull; salt spray splashing; 
A blue sky — and one picture is done. 

Then a sapphire in gold, amongst islands; 
A blue bay, rimmed with rocks, like white pearls: 
Mirror depths, where the fish swim in azure; 
Shadowed caves where the breaker unfurls. 

And next, indigo swells darkly rolling 
'Neath an indigo sky's vast expanse ; 
Streaks of foam on the oil of the billows, 
'Neath the roar of the storm-cloud's advance. 
27 



Perfume and Poison 



Last, the purple-blue haze of the distance, 
Where the dreams fly, like birds, in the mist; 
Where the infinite blue melts in silver; 
And the sea and the sky keep their tryst. 

All the blues of the world are enmeshed there — 
Turquoise-blue — jewel-hue — all entwined ; 
Blue of Heaven lies low in the water, 
Like the dreams in the heart, undefined. 

Thus blue is the sea. 

Green for hope — blue for joy — in my wishes; 
More than these, the hot gold of the sand. 
To the parched from the hills, it is ocean ; 
To the storm-tossed at sea, it is land. 



28 



When the Heart Calls 



WHEN THE HEART CALLS 

A rosy sky showed above a crimson hill, 

(There's a moment of pink dusk before the fall of 

southern nights), 
While orchid-tinged waters in the marsh lay still. 
(In the southlands ruddy rivers mirror changing 

evening lights). 

Against a green bank a sumac bush glowed red — 
(As the brilliance of the scarlet, heavy-drooped 

hibiscus blooms.) 
A thin, white fog crept beside the river bed — 
(Like the jungle mist, which drifts through sultry, 

fever-weighted glooms. ) 

Upon a pale peak an amber cottage stood. 

(Golden glimm'ring gleams the moonlight on bam- 
boo and sun-dried thatch.) 

Far plaintive singing sounded deep in the wood. 

(How the wailing songs of brown folk can the senses 
whirl and catch!) 

Sunset and moonrise over autumn-wooed land, 
Flushed in tropic tints and amorous, the cold, north- 
ern calm. 
And painted shining waters with a magic hand — 
(One tall, plume-tipped tree against the sky looked 
almost like a palm.) 



29 



Perfume and Poison 



THE SHUTTLE 

There's a shuttle, that is weaving at the fabric, 
That is drawing back and forth the magic thread 
Of the tapestry of fantasy that's spread here, 
Made of moonlight, wove' with tropic's gold and 
red. 

High above the rushing river stands the village. 
Cupped it is, in bowl of growing, living green. 
Black the water flows below it, while the palm-trees 
Stately, stand along the bank — a feath'ry screen. 

On the beach cayuccas sleeping, in a row lie; 
And feluccas, with their sails like folded wings. 
Straight the stairway climbs the sand-cliff to the 

hamlet. 
In my boat I drift and dream where shadow flings. 

All the casas are of plaster, pink and yellow, 
Fringed with huts of golden palm-thatch, sun has 

dried, 
Set on poles above the earth high ; and beneath them 
Glow the fires of charcoal braziers — hags beside. 

O'er the roof-trees hang ripe mangoes and bananas; 
Calabash' and cocoanuts are piled without; 
Coral-vine and red hibiscus — fragrant jasmine — 
Passion-flowers drape their blossoms all about. 



30 



The Shuttle 



Green-black is the jungle 'round it; and the village 
Is a rainbow-petalled bloom, against the dark. 
Smoky shadows, naked babies, and brown bodies 
Always shifting in kaleidoscopic spark. 

And the white moon, high above all, drains the 

colors, 
'Til they gleam elusive, silv'ry as the flesh 
Of a woman, with a veil of gauze around her. 
Pallid stars are dripping earthward through the 

mesh. 

From the gloom-green sounds the laughter of a 

pretty, 
Black-eyed, ear-ringed, lithely swaying, dancing girl. 
From guitar, strummed by a lover, serenading, 
Soft the chords sweet, seep their way through love's 

hot swirl. 

There's a clanging and a danging of the church bell, 
As the padre, with his prayer-book, goes to mass. 
Yellow dogs are barking loudly and a monkey 
Howls afar, while in the plaza, singers pass. 

There's a shuttle that is weaving at the fabric. 
That is drawing back and forth the magic thread 
Of the tapestry of fantasy that's spread here. 
Made of moonlight, wove' with tropic's gold and red. 

Far away within the jungle there's a torch ring, 
Circling 'round a cut-out patch of hard-stamped 
ground. 

31 



Perfume and Poison 



In its center sit the drummers and about them, 
Weirdly chanting, naked black folk leap and bound. 

In their hands are candles burning — wild they wave 

them — 
While their arms are cased in wax, all dripping hot. 
'Tis el cumbe they are dancing and their frenzy 
Wakes to madness, as they whirl about the spot. 

Mad they drink, and mad they love, and mad they 

kill, there, 
While the tom-tom's ceaseless beating calls to come ; 
From the forest all around them creep the captives, 
Who are caught there by the calling of the drum. 

And like goblins in an orgy, all together, 
In the flicker of the torch's smoky flare. 
They are linked and swept like leaves to devil- 
dancing. 
By the thrilling of the tom-tom's throbbing prayer. 

Now it rises; now it falls — in distance dying; 
All it permeates; it winds among the trees. 
Swaying, even I, in answer to its calling. 
Drift upon its beating — rock upon its breeze. 

Now, from out the jungle, creeps the mist of fever; 
Yet it is not quite a mist that shivers near. 
And again from out the forest steals a whisper; 
But it is not quite a sound that I can hear. 



32 



The Shuttle 



Through the night-air cloys a clinging fragrance; 
And it is not quite a thing that I can smell. 
AH my world is grey, yet brilliant — 'tis the spirit 
Of the paradox, the tropics, weaves the spell. 

And the shuttle that is weaving at the fabric, 
That is drawing back and forth the magic thread, 
Of the tapestry of fantasy that's spread here. 
Is the monotone of tom-toms — gold and red. 



33 



Perfume and Poison 



GIVE ME YOUR HEART 

A song to a humming-bird, whose heart is used 
for a love potion in parts of South America. 

Little bird, little bird, give me your heart. 
She will not hear me, birdling, 
So you must do your part. 

I've stalked you through the shadows green 
And trailed you through marsh mire; 
Blue butterflies about me dance. 
But you fly high and higher. 

Silver bird, pretty bird, rape orchid's sweet. 
She does not hear me, birdling. 
So come to me, Chiquit'. 

Aloft o'er tips of palm-tree tufts, 
You flit and hum there like a bee. 
Wee, perfumed spirit of pink dusk. 
Come, give your heart to me. 

Flutter far, flying flower, your time is brief. 
To rest in my love's heart-nest 
You can not call a grief. 

And hark, how wild wings rush to love, 
Through moon's white fragrant light — 
I only, am alone and sad — 
Give me my love tonight. 
34 



Me Your Heart 



Iridescent blue bird — winged jewel's flame, 
I'll set you in her heart's gold, 
Last link in lover's chain. 

Afar the drums are throbbing now — 
Love beats in torches' ring. 
Give me your heart, querida bird. 
Your songs in her will sing. 



35 



Perfume and Poison 



TO CHICO 

A Jungle Pet 

Tiny, yellow muffin ; 
Sugared honey-pot; 
Butterfly, fluffed baby — 
All this, are you not? 

Little loyal subject, 
Grant me right divine, 
Who can not deny 
Heart and soul are mine. 

Warm, wee golden watcher, 
Sleeping at my feet; 
Witching little beggar, 
When you wish to eat. 

Topaz-eyed and amber. 
Plume-white tail and ruff, 
Big your bark and bite are 
And your love's enough. 

Fire-eyed, white-fanged beastling, 
Stretch and yawn like that. 
When you hump your back so, 
Half you are a cat. 



36 



To Chico 



Born within the jungle, 
Tame for me alone, 
Saffron, slender fox-dog, 
Tearing at your bone. 

Now you sit and blink there; 
Well I know you think — 
Jungle dreams with heart beats 
Mystic mem'ries link. 

Guard you well your mistress; 
Hate you all the rest. 
Ai, chiquito perro, 
Such a love is best. 



37 



Perfume and Poison 



THE SONG THE VAMPIRE'S MISTRESS 
SINGS 

I 

It is morn, and I long for him. 

My hut is a golden bubble, 
Blown from a bamboo pipe; 
A film of sun-kissed palm-thatch, 
Floating 'mid mangoes ripe. 

'Twas dipped from the jungle's cup green, 
And, like a bird, up here. 
Where hand of my lover tossed it, 
Swings, like a golden tear. 

I rock in my golden prison 

Through the long glare of day. 

Which cuts 'tween the silver night's gleam, 

Wounding the love-light's spray. 

I sit in my shadowed door here; 
Cling to my laiia vine. 
And shiver with fear of love — 
Drowning in red love's wine. 

Ah, how can I pass the day through, 
Till he comes back to me? 
I'll send the song of our loving 
Singing across the sea. 

38 



The Song the Vampire's Mistress Sings 



II 

It is noon, and I sing of him. 

What do you know of flowers — you of the north, 
Whose blooms are pale and sweet like things just 

dead — 
Painted and pallid blossoms, ordered in space — 
Cool ash of life, that will not live, for dread ? 

Riot of mauve and crimson, gold and bright blue ; 
All scarlet, white and perfumed are my flow'rs; 
Over the thorn-locked treetops weaving a shroud, 
Like blood clouds over fields in battle hours. 

Purple their lure o'er marshes — sands 'neath are 

mired — 
Their nets lie stretched above, like mad love's snares. 
Scorpions dwell and serpents, under my flow'rs; 
Wild beasts, bloom-bound are crouched within their 

lairs. 

Through their bewildering beauty, vivid as fire, 
I sink to poisoned pain's exquisite heart ; 
Drugged with the cloy of fragrance, 'til in the core 
Of flow'rs' fantastic world, I find my part. 

What do you know of fruits, too, you of the north, 
Whose fruits are cold and clean and soul-less things, 
Polished and piled in serried rows, and then showed 
On cloistered, sheltered shelves, in market rings? 
39 



Perfume and Poison 



Mine are profusion's tangle, sun-warmed and free; 
All yellow, orange, red, and hanging high. 
Gold of their juice's trickle dazes — compels — 
Can make me love, or hate, or kill, or die. 

What do you know of waters — you of the north, 
With rivers broad and bare to morning rays? 
Octopus-armed, my water lives; and it creeps 
And crawls and winds, through darkly shadowed 
ways. 

Swinging, it strikes, where green-shot shades into 

black ; 
It waits in patient pools and lurks and coils; 
Watching, it drags and pulls me down, when it will, 
To deeps 'neath deeps; though calm, it churns and 

boils. 

Monsters 'neath flower reflections, slimed where 

they sleep; 
'Round lilies and lotus, anacondas twine. 
Mj^stery lies in water, w^ebbing its prey. 
It feeds its passion full — this stream of mine. 

What do you know of birds — and what of your 

beasts, 
Who know not stripe, nor spot, nor purr, nor will, 
Sinuous stalk of topaz cats, who so love, 
They thrill their paws with play of things they kill? 



40 



The Song the Vampire's Mistress Sings 



What of the birds with plumage rare — peacock 

things 
Of crest and ruff — exotic, gorgeous, flamed, 
Devil-winged souls, whose songs so mad are, and 

wild, 
They dare not sing ; but mock with cries unnamed ? 

What do you know of music, you of the north. 
Who do not know the throb of tom-tom's drum. 
Calling insistent, "Come you — come — to the dance! 
The dance is love and love is dance — come — come!" 

What do you know of pain's joy — you of the north. 
Who know not vengeance sweet — who understand 
Not him, who would kill him he hated, and yet 
Would cool hot hands in blood, at love's demand? 

What do you know of love, then — you of the north, 
Who do not know that love is sword and kiss — 
Mystery, too, and danger? Fear and rapt joy 
Embracing, lie 'neath rose and laughter's bliss. 

Low in the depths of thorn-pierced petals — soft 

lapped 
In lull of poisoned, perfumed mesh of flow'rs — 
Close in my arms, my lover fastens his teeth 
Heart-deep, in my warm flesh. Swift fly the hours. 



41 



Perfume and Poison 



Tendrils are dragging me down — festooned clouds 

waft 
And lift me high, while waters whisper 'round. 
Green are the glooms, and fire-eyes guard aye my 

love. 
While I but breath for him — no other sound. 

Panting beneath his caress, wildly I writhe. 

The hot, white moon burns through our bow'r. My 

mouth 
Cupped is, for him — my Star-God, mighty and dark 
A siren I, proud mistress of the south. 

Swing we in cosmic whirl — we are all love ! 
Our senses swoon, each into each. Love sears ! 
Heart of the south my breast bears — dream I to 

death. 
Such night of love is worth a thousand years! 



42 



The So tig the Vampire's Mistress Sings 



III 

It is eve and I call to him. 
Ah, come from the heart of madness — 
Come from the depths of life, 
Unhallowed and phantom lover, 
Come, for I wsiit love's strife. 

Come, shut out the sky with shadow. 
Cast by your wings, most dear. 
Enfold and hurt me to rapture 
Come, bring me joy of fear. 

Ah come! Through the dusk of jungle 
Soft, I can hear your sigh; 
It shudders it's need through treetops. 
Haste — for I long to die. 

The southland is made for loving. 
Come, you are sword — I, kiss. 
So come, let us each melt other — 
Lose we ourselves, for this. 

Ah, come then athirst, and drink me — 
Bare is my heart to sight. 
Ah come to me starved and eat me — 
All, I would give tonight! 



43 



ABOUT LOVE 



To the New Moon 



TO THE NEW MOON 

Oh, little, dripping, crescent thing, 
They say you have the power 
To grant to men what e'er they wish 
When seen at your birth hour. 

So silver, tearful, frail, you hang. 
It seems scarce true to me; 
And yet — no single chance to miss — 
I'll make my plea to thee. 

And I'll not ask for wisdom and 
I'll ask you not for gold — 
Nor will I ask for love from him, 
Who doth my fancy hold. 

World-scarred and battered, I but beg- 
And this my one last prayer — 
That dream of love within my heart 
May keep on aching there. 



47 



Perfume and Poison 



THE THINGS YOU LAUGH AT 

It is not by the things you say — 
Nor is't yet by the things you do — 
But it is by the things you laugh at 
That I know what is really you. 



48 



Aftermath 



AFTERMATH 

Would you have me sing you a love-song — 
Who have stolen the dreams from my heart, 
Who'd have me love this way and that way — 
You, who diagramed love on a chart? 

You, who said that all women fools were ; 
That men wooed us, but loved — more or less. 
You, who would have me love — not too much — 
But according to time, place and dress. 

Ah, you, who would love me but sometimes — 
And who sometimes would wish me away ; 
Who had place for me only after 
The true dreams and the work of the day. 

You, who feared to be bored, but feared not 
To lose me — one more doll turned about. 
Ever twisted, tossed and examined, 
Until all of my sawdust fell out. 

And now that I'm all limp and empty 
Would you hear, dear, just one, wee song o'er? 
You must know there's no hope nor loving, 
When the last of one's dreams is no more. 

Will I e'er have my dreams again, dear? 
But one thing still is left me to say — 
That full well must I once have loved you, 
Or you could not have ta'en them away. 
49 



Perfume and Poison 



IF A WOMAN SPOKE THE TRUTH 

Not as the wind loves the grasses — 

Not as the sea loves the breeze — 

Not as the lads love the lasses — 

Not as the birds love the trees — 

Not as the knight loves his lady — ^ 

Not as the cat loves the mouse — 

Not as the mother her baby — 

Not as the miser his house — 

Not as the banker his money — 

Not as the goodman his wife — 

Not as the soldier his country — 

Not as the coward his life — 

Not as a man loves his mistress — 
Not as the earth sun above — 
Tricked not in that, nor in this dress — 
Not so would I have you love. 

How — do you ask me to tell, dear — 

Can I be satisfied, then? 

Once, would you have the truth? Well, dear, 

The truth. — dare we tdl it to men? 



50 



// a Woman Spoke the Truth 



II 



Every laugh, that I laugh, gives me joy; 
Every tear, that I shed, gives me pain; 
Every thought, that I think, has portent; 
Every song, that I sing, sweet the strain — 
All this to me. 

Oft I sit 'fore my mirror and gaze 
At my skin, gleaming ivory white ; 
I adore the cleft shadow's amber 
'Twixt my breasts — golden globes, left and right- 
So soft to see. 

My curled hair I coil over and o'er; 
Sometimes press my warm lips to the glass; 
Strut and preen like a peacock splendid. 
With my train, like a tail, on the grass — 
And never tire. 

Each touch of my hand is a thrill; 
Slender fingers caressing my throat — 
Scarlet tongue-tip against my shoulder — 
E'en my heart-beats all play, while they gloat, 
As on a lyre. 

All my dreams, they are wound about me — 
Golden gauze in a dancer's wild swirl — 
I can float myself into allness — 
I can drag the world into my whirl — 
Or so it seems. 

51 



Perfume and Poison 



I can hear myself say what I like ; 
I can be to myself what I will. 
I am beautiful — thus I would look. 
I can drink from myself, without fill. 
Drunk with dreams! 



Ill 



So, would you have once the truth, dear? 
I'd be to you brain — heart — pelf. 
Truly — I would have you love me 
Much then, — as I love myself. 



52 



POEMS OF PAIN 



Why? 



WHY? 



Much I suffer, that I may sing — 
At the least, I believe 'tis so ; 
But the good of my singing? That 
Is a thing I may never know. 



55 



Perfume and Poison 



PAIN 

Just to ache, through the damp drip of a spring — 

dismal — 
Following months and months of the shiv'ring sick- 
ness of cold — 
With a heart of ice and a head of fire; 
With dank bones sodden — red-hot nerves, like 
wire ; 
Callous dreams, that are crushed and old. 
That is pain ! 

Or to be a free soul among slaves ; and still hailed, 

"Brother." 
To be old in the ways of the world; yet indulged 
by those 
Who know not the joy, nor the stress of strife — 
Their fetish of fear guarding lifeless life — 
Blandly blind to the way you've chose'. 
That is pain ! 

Forced to live among persons despised — always con- 
forming; 
Bitterness for the need while, in pity, bearing their 
praise ; 
With their part to play and their role to fill; 
Your true self unknown ; your own voice kept still, 
Through slow sanctioned and censored days. 
That is pain ! 



56 



Or to long for the love of another — to beg vainly — 

Giving body and brain to the God of your futile fray, 

Till there's nothing left and your heart's hot flame 

Is but burned-out ash, in a burned-out game — 

Till you're tired — when she bids you, "Stay!" 

That is pain ! 

Or to wish and to dream and to fight; yet to be 

hopeful — 
Using all that you have — that you are — both your 
heart and soul ; 
Throwing all for fuel in the white-hot fire — 
Consuming yourself for your great desire — 
Drunk with dreams, far beyond control. 

And to lose ; and to lose ; and to lose — it seems for- 
ever ; 
And to weep — till your weeping is dried up in 
laughter ; then 
To burn hopes and raise others, one by one, 
Till the latest dies, ere the next's begun — 
Learning dreams are a curse to men. 

Till you damn yourself truly for trying — fate's fool 

ever ! 
Till your dreams are no more; till the glamour is 
gone from sin; 
Losing freedom's fight for what means your bread, 
Till you've ceased to care and the starved soul's 
dead — 
No more struggling. And then — to win. 
That is pain ! 
57 



Perfume and Poison 



LAMENT 

With chant of dirge my black-robed thoughts 
Pass slow and solemn through my mind, 
Like some procession of old monks — 
Their abbe' dead — as, stumbling blind 
Amid the smoke of incense and 
The reddened flicker of torch flare 
A-down stone steps his bier they bear. 

II 

A vine-stained, purple Bacchic thing — 

A spirit of allure and fire, 

Alive to help men to forget. 

But born to quicken their desire — 

A creature scarlet-gold, with hair 

All hot and shining like a sun; 

With skin as pinkly luminous 

As emptied shells — blue-veined each one. 

Or else with face a waxen flower. 
Cream-white, with mouth a crimson cup 
Where men may drink the wine of love — 
So drowning sorrow as they sup. 
A slim and sinuous curved shape — 
Coquetries caught in subtle coil. 
And heavy-lidded down-drooped eyes, 
Like topaz flames in burning oil. 



58 



Lament 



An amber creature worth a sin — 
To work wild magic in men's brains ; 
A vampire, sucking from their hearts 
Their love of her, to ease her pains. 
A thing for which to bear an age 
O suff'ring and remorse — to die, 
If need there were — at least to fight. 
Such is a woman — such was I. 



Ill 



I weep and sad is my lament. 

I gaze within my glass and see 

My hair grown grey — my eyes grown dim; 

My withered skin — the shell of me — 

All filled with worthless wisdom, gained 

In gay and past experience. 

I live, while yet myself is gone — 

A dreadful death in impotence. 

Consumed am I — a dried-up well! 
Men come no more to slake their thirst — 
But come to ask how they may win 
To some fresh spring. Be they accursed! 
And so I mourn in silent state, 
While thought processions in my head , 
Perform last rites and pray — for I, 
Who was a woman, now am dead. 



59 



Perfume and Poison 



A SOLILOQUY BY THE MOON 

How many million years I've lived; 
And watched men do so many things — 

And yet so few. 
They barter, love, and kill, and hope — 

That's all men do. 

They haggle in the market place; 

And hate him worst, who wins the most — 

Nor ends the game. 
Five thousand years ago, I saw 

Men do the same. 

Ten thousand years ago, men loved. 
Each thought his pains unique; each swore 

He'd not forget; 
Nor cease to care — for each fresh love. 

Men do it yet. 

They make a fuss o'er each new war — 
But fight on fields blood-drenched ere this 

A thousand times. 
More men are killed? "More men there are," 

Ripe reason chimes. 

And still they hope — and that is strange — 
For unknown good, in unknown time — 

I scarce know what. 
For it they live — for it they die; 

And yet — 'tis not. 
60 



A Soliloquy by the Moon 



And long I laughed at life and death — 
So droll it seemed. The same they'd fight- 

The same they'd pray — 
Each shouting still, "I'm I." I laughed 

To see men slay. 
But now, so old, and old, I've grown, 
While watching how they hope for joy — 

No change above — 
Alike — but wistful. So I weep 

To see men love. 



6i 



Perfume atid Poison 



SEND ME A SONG 

I am still. Send me, World, a song. 

Am I never to hear your singing. 

Who have throbbed with your pain so long? 



62 



Rebellion 



REBELLION 

When I sit quite alone in the stillness, 
I can feel freedom flow all around me, 
Like a swift, but gentle stream. 
Where I float as I will and yet will-less; 
Rushing fast in abandon and simply, 
To the goal of my final dream. 

So I dream, while my soul in it's drifting 
Breathes as soft as in sleep — heart-beats share it — 
Neither ties, nor world-trappings near; 
With the goal at the end never shifting; 
With the wind and the stream on to bear it ; 
None to hamper; no thing to fear. 

Fearless I ; but my body in World lives. 
Where most men hate the others, who do things, 
Which they wish — or dare — not do. 
For the dull do not dream, and the world gives 
Little love to the dreamer, who wears wings 
And who flies where it can't fly too. 

And the cowards so fear to be hurt here 

By the breeze from the braver one's daring — 

By the drag from his undertow — 

That the weaklings, whose pale blood should spurt 

here, 
Kill, instead, all the strong, without sparing; 
For they die in their pity's flow. 

63 



Perfume and Poison 



I would float all the way down the river 

To the sea, where my dreams, like dropped stars, 

sleep — 
If I could, only once, be free; 
But I rest not in rippling sea-quiver. 
For my body is caged in the world deep 
And my soul — it is caged in mc. 



64 



Pity the Impotent 



PITY THE IMPOTENT 

Ah, pity for the impotent, whose hearts are breaking 
With ache of dreams, they have no way to show; 
The poets, who sleep, without the joy op hope of 

waking, 
World wonders burning in their heart's own glow. 

A dancer swirls on pink-tipped toes, 
Wild twirled in mist of golden gauze — 
Adrift on sweep of rythmic sound — 
Wine-flushed and drunk with mad applause. 

One sits sad-eyed in audience, 
Whose limbs are heavy, dull and still; 
While 'neath her hardened shell's pretense 
Her being sways to music's will. 

A painting hangs upon a wall — 
Reflection caught from other star 
In heart of one; thus free to all 
Through skill of him to make, nor mar. 

One passes by whose hands arc tied. 
Although his dreams in colors rush 
And all his thoughts have shape, he's tried 
And tried — yet cannot wield the brush. 



6s 



Perfume and Poison 



A great man writes a worthy book ; 
And wistful, one there is, who reads, — 
Whose vision further goes. Yet look! 
All dumb is he, when speech he needs. 

A singer sings; her marvel voice 
Pours through the air, like liquid fire. 
It burns the core of men — their choice 
Is molten soft to her desire. 

I sit, white-faced and bitter-eyed, 
And know within my heart' grave too 
A voice's soul has lived and died — 
And I can never sing for you. 

Ah, pity for the impotent, whose hearts are breaking 
With the ache of dreams, they have no way to show; 
The poets who sleep, without the joy or hope of 

waking. 
World wonders burning in their heart's own glow. 



66 



The Quest 



THE QUEST 

In a country far away from here, there stands a 
grim, grey wood. No green thing grows there — 
only tall, gaunt, grey trees rise spectre-like from the 
dank and sodden ground, where many still pools 
of dark water glimmer faintly through the mist. 
Wan and withered leaves cling to the decaying 
branches, while swaying, wraith-like streamers of 
grizzled, grey moss hang down between; and drops 
of water drip from them into the pools below. The 
moss winds itself like a grey shroud over the tops 
of the trees, shutting out all of the sky. A film of 
vapor rises from the earth and a thick mist hangs low 
over the forest. Pale shadows are piled on darker 
shadows, wavering and ghostly, like a bank of storm- 
clouds, with blackness back of all. 

No bird sings there. Below is baleful silence ; but 
high in the treetops a lonely wind wails fitfully. A 
drear and dreadful place enough ; and yet a woman 
walks there — a woman wrapped in grey, like the 
mist. Her eyes gleam like the dark, grey water, and 
her hair streams backward as she goes, silently, swift- 
ly, through the gloom, tossing her arms above her 
head and moaning like the weary wind in the tops of 
the trees. But the woman's mouth is a scarlet 
flower. 

Now it befell, on a time, that the Chatelaine of 
a broad, fair land knew that the time was near, 
when she would bear a child. So she sent to the 

67 



Perfume and Poison 



four corners of the earth for wizards and magicians, 
seeking one, who might grant to her child the boon 
she craved. 

Many great seers came in haste to the court; but 
one by one, they turned away, as the lady whispered 
to them her wish, each one saying, '*I can not," or, 
"I dare not." 

Until at last, there was left only one, the great, 
great-grandfather of Merlin, and the most marvel- 
ous magician of all time. He said, "I will wait, 
Lady, and if, when thy child be born, thou ask me 
again, I will hearken to thee and grant thy boon ; 
but think well, Lady, for it is not happiness — this 
gift, which thou wouldst have for thy child — though 
verily, it is a brave and goodly quest." 

"And to all questing there is an end, and the end 
to this venture must be wondrous bliss." Thus 
answered him the lady. 

But the sage replied, "I do not know, for no man 
has yet made an end to it." 

When the babe came, it was, as the mother had 
dreamed it would be, a lusty boy, and all the court 
rejoiced. 

Then the lady called the sage to her bedside and 
said, "I have thought well, oh sage, and I ask thee 
again. Grant that my son may seek and find the 
greatest thing in the world." 

The magician answered somewhat sadly, "The 
gift is given. Lady. Thy son shall seek and find the 
greatest thing in the world — the scarlet flower of 
life." 

68 



The Quest 



The babe was the joy of his mother's heart ; but 
day by day he waxed taller and stronger, until he 
was no longer a child, but a noble youth, comely, 
straight and brave withal — broad of shoulder, slen- 
der-waisted, and tall as a young fir-tree — excelling 
all in sword-craft and hurling of the spear and well 
versed in much princely lore, taught him by the 
grey-beard scholars in his mother's court. 

At last came a day, when the youth sought the 
Chatelaine, as she sat among her knights and ladies 
in the tapestried, castle hall and spake to her eagerly, 
saying, "Lady Mother, always thou hast told me of 
the great adventure, that was to be mine, and thou 
hast gloried in it and hast taught me to long for 
the time when I might set me on my way. Permit 
me then, to go, for I dream night and day of the 
winning of the scarlet flower ; and surely the time is 
ripe. Do not weep, therefore, but speed me cheerily, 
for I will truly return to thee, when that which I 
seek is found." 

But years had taught wisdom to the lady, and well 
she knew in her heart that her son would never re- 
turn. Therefore she put him off awhile and sat 
alone in her chamber, and wept. Then she came 
forth bravely into the hall, and before all assembled 
there, she dressed her son in a rich vestment of green 
silk, with flowers and birds worked thereon in gold 
and silver thread ; and she bound her broidered girdle 
round his left arm and put a sword in his right 
hand — a sword of gold and silver, with great jewels 
at the hilt and many a device wrought with enamel 

69 



Perfume and Poison 



on the blade, in cunning workmanship. Then she 
kissed him and bade him go — but called him back 
to kiss his brow once more. 

The boy rode away on a great, white steed, decked 
with ribbands and garlands and tiny, ringing, silver 
bells. And he set forth singing, with joy in his 
heart. 

Full many a day he rode, until he came to a great 
field, set round with many-colored, silken tents; and 
strewn over with bright-hued flowers. There a fair 
company of maids and youths danced and sang and 
made much mirth in the glowing, golden sunlight. 

And one of the company came up to the youth and 
prayed him courteously to alight and join them, say- 
ing, "Surely thy quest is pleasure, fair Stranger, so 
comely thou art and young.'' 

The youth answered him, *'It well may be that 
thou canst tell me what it is I seek, for I know only 
that it is the greatest thing in the world, that thing 
men call the scarlet flower." 

The reply was this : "Love is the fulness of life, 
the greatest thing in the world, and thou wilt find 
it here." 

Then the youth thought in his heart, "It must be 
so, for see how glad they are, and hark how they 
laugh and sing in glee!" 

He sprang from his horse and marked the loveliest 
of the maids and called her to him — called her with 
insolent joyousness, knowing that she would come. 
Laughing, she came to him, and they went apart to 
a gold-embroidered, scarlet tent. 
70 



The Quest 



There followed days and nights of Springtime 
ecstacy and madness — a glittering, golden time of 
wonder. Every morning the 5'outh said to himself, 
"I have found the greatest thing in the world — the 
scarlet flower." And he saw not at all that the 
flower was set in grey mist. 

But after many days it grew hard to rest content ; 
and slowly, but exceeding surely, his dreams came 
back to him. At last came a day when he told the 
fair maid that he must leave her. 

"But do not weep, dear love," he cried, "for surely 
I will come back to thee." 

The maiden answered, "Thou wilt find me wait- 
ing." But to her heart she said, "He will never 
come." And she wept long and dolorously. 

The youth rode away on his good, white horse, 
singing still, though the garlands were dead and the 
bells rang no more. 

Long time he traveled and far, until at length he 
met a knight, a grim and mighty warrior, clad in 
clanking armour, burnished bright, and riding a 
noble battle-steed. A spear rested on his stirrup 
and his pennant fluttered free. 

"What is thy errand. Boy, and whither lies thy 
way?" Thus the knight asked graciously. 

"I seek the greatest thing in the world. Sir 
Knight," the boy responded lightly, "and I know 
not yet the way I must wend." 

"Glory is the greatest thing in the world. Win 
that, and thou hast won all." 

The knight spoke proudly and fiercely and the 
71 



Perfume and Poison 



youth thought valiantly, "I will tarry no more in the 
Fields of Pleasure. Glory and power shall be mine, 
and I trow the road lies clear at last." 

So he put oft* his mantle of broidered silk and lay 
by his jeweled, toy sword for battle-axe and spear. 
Everywhere he went, he slew wild beasts and fought 
great fights and conquered all men, until, by his 
own right hand, he made of himself a mighty man of 
valor and his fame was great throughout the land. 
Then he became king over a broad desmesne and men 
named him the greatest hero of all time. The glee- 
men sang of his deeds of arms, and in the twilight, 
mothers spoke of him softly to their sons. 

Long he reigned, while his renown waxed ever 
greater, and the country prospered. And oft-times 
he said to himself, "Certes, I have found the greatest 
thing in the world and my long task is achieved." 

But day by day the sense of fulfilment and frui- 
tion grew less and in their stead came doubt and 
unrest. At this time, there rode into the court a 
youth, even such a one as the King himself had been. 

And the King said to him, "What of the maiden 
who lives alone in the scarlet tent, on the Field of 
Love? Thou hast come from there and canst tell 
me. I was her lover once, and will be again, when 
I have surely found the scarlet flower." 

And the stranger answered him, "A woman, very 
beautiful, still lives in the scarlet tent ; but she does 
not live alone, and many lovers have come and gone, 
since thou wert there, O King." 

Then the King stepped down from his royal dais 
72 



The Quest 



and bade his squire bring horse and arms; and he 
rode away. 

But first he said to his people, **I must go forth 
on a high quest, but that finished, I will return to 
rule over ye once more." 

And the people shouted, "Return and reign again, 
O King!" 

When the King rode out, he was clad in mighty 
armour and he bore a helm of gold and a shield of 
gold and bestrode a gallant war-horse, caparisoned 
likewise with trappings of gold and steel. And the 
King was a lusty man in his prime, stern and battle- 
tried ; and he set forth shouting his battle-cry, high 
courage in his heart. 

He followed the long road until he met a man, old 
and grey, who tottered and mumbled as he walked, 
bent double over his staff. The monarch lighted 
down from his horse and addressed the grey-beard 
courteously. 

"Father, I seek the greatest thing in the world — 
the scarlet flower of life. Canst point out to me the 
way I must go?" 

The old man lifted his face, white, calm and 
serene, to the face of the King and answered him. 
"It is wisdom that thou seekest. Knowledge is the 
greatest thing in the world." 

And the King, seeing the face of the seer illumined 
with inner light, thought in his heart, "It may be 
so." 

Therefore he journeyed from one scholar to an- 
other, until he had learned all that they had to 
73 



Perfume and Poison 



teach him ; and he studied the heavens and the earth, 
until there was not such another sage in all the 
world ; and men came from far and near to sit at 
his feet and learn from him. 

Each morn he said to himself serenely, *'I have 
found the greatest thing in the world. I am con- 
tent." 

But this grew harder and harder to say; and on a 
certain day, there came thither to the hermitage, 
where the sage dwelt alone, a warrior. And the 
sage questioned the knight, saying, "What of the 
King, who ruled the country during the great wars, 
long ago? Do the people still hope for his return?" 

And the warrior answered him, "Many a king 
has reigned since he thou namest ruled there, and 
the people have ceased to think of him. Even the 
bards sing of heroes come and gone since then and 
the mothers name new knights as patterns for their 
sons." 

Then the sage saw the grey mist round the scarlet 
flower. 

But he set forth on his quest once more. This 
time he went on foot and went forth silently, robed 
in sackcloth and bending low over a staff- — for he 
was an old, old man, with a long, white beard. 

He stumbled, as he walked through the dust, but 
struggled on, until at last he drew near to the great, 
grey wood ; and the grey woman came softly toward 
him, with her arms out-stretched. But he saw of her 
only the scarlet flower, which was her mouth. 

Nearer she came and nearer, while he trembled 
74 



The Quest 



and waited. At last she set her scarlet lips to his and 
kissed him. Then he fell on his face in the grey dust 
of the road. 

The villagers, passing that way in the morning, 
found him lying there. 



75 



